TOS: Logical Undertaking
by Grand Admiral Harmon
Summary: Set in Year 4 of the 5 Year Mission. While on a mission to introduce a new planet into the Federation, Spock uncovers a device which could allow him to go back in time and save someone he lost years before.
1. The Changing of the Times

Authors Note: I do not own Star Trek or any main character names, except original characters and places in my story. This story is strictly for fun.

**Chapter 1: The Changing of the Times**

_Captain's Log - Stardate 7566.23: The _Enterprise _has been diverted to the planet Sextus Dominar on a diplomatic foray. The planet, recently added to the Federation, is given the task of helping them bring their government into alignment with ours and so the assignment falls to us. Also we will be helping them upgrade some of their technology._

The blizzard of the teleporter system came to a close and in the Grand Emperor's office stood three men. Two were humans, one of slighter build and dark hair. He wore a red shirt. The last member of their party was tall and gangly, with pointed ears and short cropped hair that seemed like a bowl. His face was emotionless, with a bland look to it.

But the other human, while not a particularly tall man, was most certainly the leader. His bearing was that of one who knew his way around command. His hair was lighter, and at his lead they walked up to the near the foot of the throne.

"Welcome to Sextus Dominar," the Grand Emperor said from his throne, a small methane mask covering his face.

The G'neld species had evolved to need methane, but eons had changed the atmospheric conditions to more oxygen in then methane. While a tang of it was still in the air, it was not heavy enough for them to breath but not light enough for visitors not to feel a tiny sting to their eyes.

"Thank you, Grand Emperor," the leader said, bending his middle slightly in difference to his hosts position, "I am Captain James T. Kirk of the starship, _Enterprise_. This is my chief engineer, Montgomery Scott. And this is my second officer and scientific head, Commander Spock."

"Yes," the Grand Emperor said, laying his long three fingered hands on his knees and bending forward, "You are Vulcan? Are you not?"

"I am," Spock acknowledged.

"Ah yes," he smiled, although the only indication of his smile was a slight crinkling of his brilliant green eyes, "Vulcans used to visit here a lot. Had scientific outposts and laboratories as well. But it has not been so since the day of my fathers' rule. Nigh on seven decades ago."

The trio looked at each other. Spock usually generated some sort of wonderment. He was, to say the least, an oddity for the most part. But, the Emperor snapped his fingers and out came a couple of his ministers. There was business to attend to.

"My Ministers of Science, Law and Technology," he said, gesturing to the three, who each towered over even Spock by half a foot, "They are at your disposal."

"Thank you," Kirk bowed, and at once gave orders to his officers and they paired up with their chosen Minister counterpart and began heading off in separate directions.

He watched them go and leaned back in his seat. It was a shame that they needed to embrace the Federation. But, it was better by far them, then the Klingons, or even the Cardassians. Choose your devil, his father had advised him, and choose the one least willing to turn on you.

"This is a mistake," a voice whispered from behind him, "I implore you to turn them away. They will overturn the state of things within the Empire!"

"I have already made my mind on the matter clear," he said, not turning to the voice.

"But sire-"

"Enough!" he slammed his fists on the arm-rests of his throne, "I am Grand Emperor here. You are Grand Vizier. In the end, my word is law. Not yours. Now go bother someone else for a while, you tire me something fierce."

There was a hiss as his Grand Vizier acknowledged his Lord's command and turned and left. Yes, it was a shame indeed.


	2. Building on the Foundations of Empire

**Chapter 2: Federation Building on the Foundations of Empire**

"I can't believe it!" the G'neld scientist nearly squealed as she lead Spock into a large chamber, full of scientific data. "To have a Vulcan here. I can't tell you how forward I am looking to your helping us increase of harvests. And our scientific knowledge."

"You do realize of course that I can only help you in some instances," Spock said, noting a very thin but fine layer of dust in the Minister's laboratory. _Fascinating._ "Much of the knowledge will be obtained only by the pursuit of it."

"Yes, yes," she nodded his head, the long white head-dress of pearl-beads bound by silver string jiggling wildly as she did so. "But, much of this is left-over Vulcan science that we have frankly no idea what it is meant to be."

"Have you none of the research notes?" Spock asked, frowning slightly, "We Vulcan do keep notes on all our doings."

"Well, sure," the Minister shrugged, "But Vulcan's do not teach their language to just anyone."

Spock looked at the stack on papers. Curious, they were written in an obscure dialect of Vulcan. Looked like, even from his distance from there that they were Me'laker. Me'laker was the region near the northern ice cap, which was inhabited by very few Vulcans. They preferred a drier and hotter climate.

Even more curious was the fact they were written down on paper, and not on electronic handheld devices. Even back in that time they had electronic hand held devices, called EHHD's. Why had it been written on here and not on them where it could be backed up and saved if the files were destroyed?

Spock walked over to the research notes and picked them up. He was rusty on his Me'laker, but he had learned it much younger, when as a child he had fancied a certain female from the region on a year-long holiday to the village he grew up in. But, that had been year ago. At least 30.

"And you are certain you have no idea what these papers were about?" he asked, turning the pages, but little of it stick out.

"None of it," she replied, "Although the head Vulcan scientist, a woman by the name of Ti'lop, said it'd help us increase our productivity a hundred fold."

"I shall need to take these back up to the _Enterprise_," he replied, turning and closing the file folder the papers were in, "from there I'll be able to use the databanks there to look up what exactly this was and what the research was intended for. With your permission of course."

"Oh yes, yes," she nodded her head again. "Anything to help the G'neld Empire improve the land reclamation and the food shortages we are having."

"The land reclamation is more Mr. Scott's department," he noted, "But, I will be able to help you with it by showing you quadrotriticali. I am no agriculture, mind you. But it should be fairly simple for you to do create and manufacture it."

* * *

"Minister Bok'rat," Kirk said, tossing the PADD to the side, "Your government needs to be totally reconstructed."

The Minister, another tall G'neld, but with a width girth did not look happy. "But this government has run efficiently for over a thousand years. We've had no revolts, no riots in over a hundred years."

"I'm not saying it hasn't work," he replied, "I however note a large rift between the prosperous rich and the less than fortune commoner."

The Minister frowned. "I don't understand," he said.

"Of course you don't," Kirk leaned back into the chair, "And that's the problem. In the Federation, there are no rich or poor. All have the same resources at their disposal. But your Empire does not allow the lower stratus of society to get those same things that your minister do."

"The ones who run the government and towns need more," Bok'rat said, waving a large sausage thick hand at Kirk, "The commoner does not need as much. The military need not as much."

"The Federation is dedicated to the improvement of life at all levels," Kirk reminded him, trying to keep a civil tone with this pompous fat lard, "Not only in wealth, but also health as well. Your hospital system is not the best."

"We give the healers in the hospitals enough money to run efficient operations," the G'neld held his chin up, "Not our problem if they don't invest their money wisely."

"You barely give them enough to run their operations," Kirk retorted.

"The hospitals run."

"At the expense of abundance of bandages and other medical equipment."

"If I may," the advisor of the Minister said, cutting into the argument, "We have been at this for seven standard hours. Tempers are short. I suggest a recess until tomorrow. There is no rush, is there Captain?"

Kirk looked at him and couldn't help but feel like strangling the both of them. Yes, perhaps humanity was above such petty things. But, it hadn't lost _all_ its basic instincts. What was it that charming Councilor on that one planet had called him? A barbarian.

"An excellent idea," Kirk said, slowly pushing himself up from the chair. His back and butt were sore from sitting so long. "If you excuse me, Minister, we shall resume our talks tomorrow."

The Minister was seething but he slowly nodded, his lips tight. "I look forward to it," he struggled to say.

Kirk pulled out his communicator and with a flick of his wrist the cover popped up.

"Kirk to _Enterprise_," he spoke into the mouth piece.

"_Enterprise here_."

"Beam me up," he ordered.

The transporter beam grabbed a hold on him, and he felt himself being disintegrated, molecule by molecule. The image of the chamber shifted to the transporter room, and soon the blizzard of transporter particles changed and disappeared.

"Mr. Kyle," he said, stepping off the transporter pad, "Has the rest of the landing party beamed up?"

Mr. Kyle, currently turning off the transporter shook his head. "Lt. Scott hasn't reported in yet. But Mr. Spock has."

"Very well," Kirk said, and with that he strode out of the transporter room and into the corridor beyond.

* * *

Doctor Leonard McCoy sat down at the table, files in one hand, a plate of steak and mashed potatoes with milk gravy in the other hand. After a very long day helping people in sick bay, he was more than happy to sit down and eat (in his mind) a well-earned dinner. It was 2000 hours on the _Enterprise_, and most people had already finished their dinners and gone off to prepare for bed while the night crew was starting to take over their shifts.

The door to the mess hall slid open and he glanced up from his cup of Saurian brandy as he spotted Kirk as he made his way to one of the replicators. He didn't watch him as Kirk flipped through the data cards until he found the one he wanted and stuck it into the card slot. A musical tone came from there as the food finished preparing and grabbing his chicken sandwich and hot coffee, he made his way over to McCoy.

"Room for one more?" he asked.

"Go ahead," McCoy said, raising up a foot and pushing the chair back for his friend as he place the tray of food onto the table. "Place was seeming pretty quiet."

Kirk slid into the seat, his eyes bloodshot from the long day's work. He bent over slightly, rubbing at his eyes, trying to rub the tiredness from his eyes. But, he remained there for a few seconds, and soon his shoulders began to heave with the steady rhythm of sleep. With a snort, Bones picked up his steak knife, and gentle wacked him on the head with it. Kirk started and looked up, blinking.

"Tired, are we?" he asked his captain.

"You and Spock have at least one un-endearing quality," Kirk muttered as he picked up his fork.

"What's that?" Bones smirked.

"You both have a talent for stating the obvious," Kirk yawned the last part of his pronouncement.

Bones chuckled as he lifted his drink and took a deep swallow. It wasn't often Jim was this tired. But, diplomacy was a taxing job. On any man, not only James Tiberius Kirk.

"So what's the scoop?" he asked, "How much longer do we have to be over this planet?"

Kirk shook his head, picking up the sandwich between both of his hands. "I'm afraid it's going to take more than a week to organize them to fit the Federation," he said, taking a small bite of his food, "I don't understand why they weren't already so before the Federation Council approved their membership. That's standard procedure."

"I'm a doctor," Bones quipped, "Not a politician. But, with the Klingons and Romulans getting more aggressive, we need a planet with the discipline of Sextus Dominar and its military to help us if we should ever come to blows again."

"I doubt we will have trouble with the Klingons," the Captain said, "The Organians scared them something fierce. They've all but kept to every stipulation of the Organian Treaty since it was signed. No, I believe that we'd see something from the Romulans far before we seen the Klingons do anything foolish."

Bones shrugged. "I'll leave that to the diplomats," he smiled, "I'll stick to medicine."

Kirk chuckled weakly. "Good," he said, "I'd hate to see you running a ship."

Both men chuckled and continued eating. While not alone in the mess hall, they weren't disturbed by the Ensigns and crewmen as they enjoyed a few moments before heading off to bed.

* * *

The data that was being translated on the screens had Spock curious. None of it had been secretive in nature. One had been how to expand the average Vulcan lifespan from two hundred fifteen to two hundred fifty. One had been work on curing Bendii.

Bendii Syndrome was a disease that shredded the logical mind of a Vulcan and left him powerless to the overwhelming nature of Vulcan-emotions. Emotions ran deeper in Vulcans than humans, which was why they spent so long learning how to master emotions. And even though Spock could tell it wasn't going to work, at least it was progress in research into developing a cure.

But still, why was there a need to do it in an archaic and very much useless dialect? Not that the people who spoke it were useless and it certainly had the secretive factor. But, why would anyone need to keep this work secret? There was no logic in such a movement. All this would have been applauded by the Vulcan community as a step forward in research. And the scientist who had written the paper, a Doctor V'Plok, was not even from Me'laker. So, why was there a need to?

"Computer," Spock spoke aloud, steepling his fingers in front of his face.

"_Working_," the computer replied in its logical simple and robotic manner.

"Translate the next document from Vulcan Me'laker dialect to Earth English dialect," he ordered, and slid the papers into a slot in front of the screen.

The computer chirped and sounded like an antique type-writer as it processed the information. He leaned back in his chair and picked up the book on Earth philosophy he had been gifted by Kirk back on his birthday. He did not understand the need for humans to celebrate a day they had no memory of. But, his Human ship-mates had insisted on giving him a present and making him part of the Human experiance.

While his Human half was amused, his Vulcan half could not help but roll his eyes. He was continually inundated by Human emotions and passions. And they left a remarkable stench. It was little wonder few Vulcans served in Starfleet. Even fewer on human ships. But, he had grown comfortable with them. They might be illogical and frustrating at times, but...it was a certain guilty pleasure of his to be with humans. They were, as he would say, fascinating.

"_Translation complete_," the computer mono-toned it's announcement.

"Print paper copy for myself," he commanded, and one by one the pieces of paper were shot out.

First came the original copy. But the next was English translated. Spock set aside the book, closing it after placing the bookmark inside. He grabbed the original documents and placed them to the edge of the table. He then grabbed each page of the translated copy and began to read it.

_"I am Doctor V'Plok_," the document began, "_And I will assume whomever finds this document will be a scientifically-enlightened mind. Three weeks ago, Nel'kerk informed me of a device being kept in the Imperial Lower Archives. According to him, it was a mirror of black glass, that one may step through and enter a dimensional portal where the laws of temporal incursions do not apply."_

_"I dismissed this as an illogical outburst of emotions from my protégé. But, he can be most persuasive. And. upon studying the device, I accidently fell into the mirror. I believed I had busted the glass, but, there was no glass. Further investigation has lead me to the hypothesis that anyone who enters can step backwards or even forwards in time and visit those time periods. And, if I am right, they can bring people from the past to the present._

_"Is it illogical of me to hope that this might be the case? If I am successful, I could bring back She Who Was My Wife. Imagine the potential for both good and evil with such a device."_

Spock's eyebrows furrowed. "Fascinating," he commented to himself, and continued reading.


	3. Where Does Duty Lie?

**Chapter 3: Where Does Duty Lie?**

A sharp buzz cut through McCoy's sleep. Very rarely did anyone come to see him in his own quarters, and so he was startled into full awakeness by the untimely and ghastly intrusion on his nightly relaxation. He rolled over and reaching out a heavy feeling hand turned the clock to face him.

300 Hours. He blinked at the time. Wasn't Nurse Chappel covering tonight's graveyard shift? Well, who in dang blazes could be calling upon him this unholy hour?

The chime rang again and he groaned loudly. Just leave him alone! Wasn't that not too much to ask? The chime rang again and he angrily sat up.

"Come in!" he snapped and the door hissed open.

Standing in the doorway was Spock. His eyebrows raised in disbelief. Surely Spock couldn't be in here? He must still be asleep. Yes, that was it. That steak did have a funny taste. Perhaps he'd have to have Scotty do a thorough check on the replicators once he got back from the surface.

"Not a good sign when your dreams follow you into the waking world," he muttered.

"I am no dream, Doctor," Spock said, the door hissing shut as he stepped out of the motion detector's limited rang. A few seconds passed as McCoy stared at him queerly, trying to figure out what exactly was going on.

"If you were really the real Spock and no a dream," McCoy reasoned, rubbing the side of his face, "You'd wait until I got to sickbay. That's where you and Jim always go to talk to me."

"We have come into your quarters before," Spock said.

"No," McCoy shook his head, "You haven't."

"Of course we have," Spock's eyebrows furrowed, "It would be illogical to have never visited your quarters before."

"No," McCoy snapped, slapping the mattress to the bed with a hand, "You haven't ever been in here. And I'm too d-n sleepy to argue the issue with you. So, tell me Mister Spock, what brings you to my humble abode?"

Spock shrugged slightly. "I have need of your guidance, McCoy," he stated.

McCoy rolled his eyes and standing up moved to the water facet near the mirror. He turned it on and lowering his face splashed cold water. It wasn't the shock into full awareness he had hoped, but, it did drive some of the sleep away. He looked up at the mirror and seeing his own bags under his eyes grunted.

_You are becoming an old man, Leonard._

"I must be asleep," he said, grabbing the hand towel and wiping the water from his face, "Because you would never ask for my guidance on anything."

"But I do ask for it," Spock stated, a sense of…was that urgency Bones heard?

McCoy turned to Spock and stared at Spock, and reaching over, touched him on the shoulder. The Vulcan looked down at his hand and looked up at him, squinting his eyes in confusion. McCoy ran his hand up and down Spock's biceps and blinked. He dropped his hand.

"I guess you are the real thing," the Doctor finally said, convinced.

"And you can tell by touching me?" Spock asked.

McCoy shrugged and moved to his desk and took a seat. "You don't know how many times dreams have talked me into believing they weren't fake," he replied. He reached under the desk and pulled out a bottle of Saurian brandy. He reached behind him, grabbed two cups and pulled them out and set them down on the flat top of the desk.

"Want something to drink while you tell me whatever it is you are bothered with?" he offered.

"No thank you, Doctor," he said, and gestured towards an empty chair, "But I will take a chair."

"Go for it," he said, pouring himself a full cup. He lifted it to his lips and took a small swig while Spock settled into the chair. Once Spock had been seated, he put the cup down and held it between the fingers of both hands.

"So," he stressed the word, "What brings you here? Why not talk to Jim? Isn't he a better friend then I am?"

"I trust only you with this matter," Spock replied, and McCoy even in a sleepy state could tell the Vulcan was choosing his words carefully, "It is a matter that concerns us and not him. And besides, while we might have our differences, they in the end…as you would say, 'add flavor' to our relationship."

"Why thank you, Spock," McCoy smiled genuinely, "I feel the same about you. But, enough about that. What matter concerns us and not him?"

"Doctor, do you remember the woman Zarabeth?" Spock inquired, leaning forward slightly.

McCoy frowned. The name rang a bell, but he couldn't put names to faces or anything at the moment. He shrugged slightly, a small admittance of his own human frailty and his own age. His mind wasn't as sharp as it had once been.

"The woman from Sarpeidon," Spock offered, "The woman that was exiled in time."

"The woman from the ice age?" the doctor asked, the pieces coming together, "Yeah, now I remember her. But Spock, the Captain was on that planet too. He even heard about us talking about her afterwards."

"He went to another time period of that planet's history, Doctor," the Vulcan reminded him, then he looked ever so slightly away from McCoy's face, "I never told him about her. When he asked about it, I told him it was of no consequence."

"You lied to him?" McCoy's eyes went wide. Never in a hundred years did he ever suspect that Spock would ever lie to the Captain. They were too close for such a thing to happen. And yet, the proof was in the pudding.

"Lie?" Spock raised an eyebrow, "I did not lie. I made a choice. She was….special to me."

"Alright," McCoy asked, prodding the conversation along, "So, what about her?"

Spock closed his eyes and pressed his hands together and raised them to his face. "I think I have found a way to go save her," Spock said.

"Save her?" McCoy's eyes went wide, "But Spock, she's been dead for over five _thousand_ years!"

"I have uncovered a document of a project that a Vulcan scientist conducted on Sextus Dominar with time travel involving a device that can transport a person throughout time and distance," Spock explained, "And while there are risks, we can save her, Doctor."

"Whoa, hold your horses, Spock," McCoy raised up a hand and took another swig to wrap his mind around what was being said. "Time travel is a tricky proposition. You know better than I the consequences."

"Yes, Doctor," the Vulcan nodded his agreement, "But I have to."

"But why?" McCoy pressed, "Why? She has been dead for a long time. You yourself admitted it. Why has it become so important?"

Spock opened his eyes and slowly laced his fingers together. He dropped them to his knee, and McCoy could swear he saw emotions raging inside him. What could this mean? Did Spock really feel for this girl? Did he, heaven forbid, _love_ her?

Spock spoke very slowly, "I don't know. I don't know why it has become so important to me. I thought the feelings I had disappeared when we came back to our time. But, I haven't gone a day without thinking about her. She's in my mind all the time. I….I love her, Bones. But I need help. I don't know if this is true or not. But I must find her and save her if I can."

Bones leaned forward and stared closely at the Vulcan. No, there was no beard. But, this passion was unbefitting a Vulcan. The dedication to logic was far more important to a Vulcan than anything else. He knew Spock was half-human, but that still shouldn't mean anything. Was this the same man who continually belittled him for his emotional outbursts?

"I see," McCoy said, leaning back, "Then why do you need me to help you? Why not, Jim?"

"You are also her friend, Doctor," Spock reminded him, "But also, I will need your help for something else."

The Doctor didn't think his eyes could get any wider. But, they did. "Angels and ministers of mercy save us!" he quipped, "What else do you need me to do?"

"To help me make the logical and correct decision if she can't be saved," Spock spoke softly.

* * *

"No," Kirk said as they walked towards Transporter Room 2, "I do not like the idea of you doing time travel for any reason."

They passed by some technicians as they moved down the hallway, the technicians pressing themselves closer to the wall to give the Captain and his command staff more space. But, Kirk was not so much concerned about that. No, he had been presented with a request to use a device to travel in time. No reason why, except it was important.

"We have done time travel before," Spock reminded him as McCoy followed behind them, "And it has always been profitable."

"But I knew what was at stake in those situations," Kirk pointed out, the door to the transporter room sliding open with a hiss as they entered the room, "And you won't even tell me why it is important to do this little escapade."

"Jim," McCoy interjected, "I have always found that when Spock thinks something needs to be done, it needs to be done."

"Prepare to energize us down to the planet," Kirk ordered the transporter operator, throwing his face back to see the woman acknowledge the order with a nod, "That's not the point, McCoy. And you know that. Do you know what it is about, Bones?"

"I do know, Jim," McCoy said, stepping up onto the transporter pad and taking the pad to the left and a little back from Kirk and opposite from Spock who had already taken his place, "And believe me when I say it is for a good cause."

Kirk shook his head, his face resolute and stubborn. There were several things he hated. Powerful entities transporting him off his ship at a whim. Crew-members getting god-like powers. Women who wouldn't be seduced by his charm and charisma. But most importantly, he didn't like it when there were secrets and they wanted him to take it off faith.

"Can you tell me what it is that is so important, Leonard?" he asked, turning back to look at McCoy.

"No sir," McCoy shook his head, "I cannot."

"Then why should I allow it?" he asked, "Give me one good reason why I should allow you two to go on this jaunt."

Spock cleared his throat and looked at the short human with his impassive glance. "The advancement in scientific advancement would be quiet significant," he reasoned, "Surely that is enough."

Kirk again shook his head. "Not good enough gentlemen," he decided.

"Jim-"

"No, Doctor McCoy!" he snapped, holding up his hand to cut him off, "My decision is final. You aren't doing it. Am I crystal clear?"

They both acknowledged their understanding and obedience. He nodded, glade that he got the last say. Rank did have its privileges. They were few but they were profound. And there were times he had to exercise them a bit more.

"Now that the matter is settled," he said with relief, "Energize."

* * *

"While I go talk to this _Minister_," Kirk rolled his eyes, "I hope that you'll have more success than I do. Au revoir, gentlemen."

"See you later, Jim," McCoy called out as they watched Kirk step off in the direction of the Ministry of Law office building, "Sorry, Spock, looks like no deal."

"I need no deal, Doctor," Spock said, turning and heading off with his long strides.

McCoy frowned and turned chased after him. "Spock!" he called out, "D-n it Spock! What are you doing?"

Spock didn't slow down, but kept walking with his long strides, determination fixed in his face. He was heading through the heart of the G'neld capitol, the populace taking interest at these two aliens as they roamed through the streets. The sun seemed to dance off the hard marble walls of the city, almost giving it a blinding quality. The streets seemed to be made of hard glass, and while it was hard enough for one to be able to grip the ground with ease, it almost was too slippery for traction.

Hovercraft flew over their heads, just far enough that G'neld could walk under with still a couple feet between them and the speeding craft. The native language of the people was all around various tones and mannerisms. They sounded to be like the snapping of fingers through the various tones and clicks of the native language. And unlike the Ministers, if Spock had been interested, he'd have seen the people not wearing the head robes and flowing cloaks, but wearing harsh linen clothing of various colors. Blue, grey and red. The colors of the G'neld Empire.

In fact, the Imperial Colors were everywhere. The road was laid in three lairs, each one of a different color of the tri-colors. The cars were either solidly one of the colors, or a mixture of two or three of the colors. Imperial banners were everywhere, the emblem a planet with a the outline of a square shield surrounding the sphere.

McCoy ran after Spock, who even though he was not running, was walking at such a pace it was nigh to impossible for him to keep up. They had gone nearly a mile into the city, and his breathing became labored and he began to slow. He tried to call out to the Vulcan, but he kept slipping through the crowd.

"Spock!" he shouted, but soon the Vulcan was completely gone from sight.

He looked around, and while people were watching him, he doubted anyone could help him. Probably none of them spoke or understood English. But, he also knew if he didn't get help, he'd be lost. Following Spock, he hadn't taken the time to look around, and he knew they'd taken one if not more turns in their pursuit of where ever this stupid portal was.

"Can someone tell me where the Vulcan went?" he asked, looking from face to face. Hoping at least one person would understand him.

But, that hope was in vain as they looked at him and simply blinked. Some were even laughing, pointing at him. He was a strange alien on their streets. An oddity to behold. He was getting a sinking feeling.

"The pointed-eared fellow," he said, using his fingers to make his ears pointy, "Where did he go?"

There was just more laughter and shaking of their heads. He closed his eyes in frustration and hung his head. Of course no one could help him. And he couldn't talk to any of them. Where was Uhuru when she was needed? She was a communications officer.

"I'm a doctor," he muttered, "Not a linguist."

He was lost in the streets of an alien city. With no signs he could read, and unable to communicate with the locals. He knew going back wouldn't be a good idea. He hadn't paid attention to their route. He was just about to panic when he thought to himself, _Leonard! You idiot. You've got your communicator! Just call the Vulcan._

"That's embarrassing," he muttered, reaching over to his hip and grabbing the communicator. As a doctor you needed to have a good memory. Any momentary lapse in memory could be potentially fatal to anyone involved. That's one reason he had spent almost seven years at ol' Mississippi State, learning medicine. To help ingrain those things into the memory so permanently that you could do it perfectly without power.

He flicked the communicator cover open, and was reaching out for the dialing knob when suddenly a strong hand grabbed his free arm in a powerful grip. "What the-" he protested, yanking hard. But, he could do and say no more as the metallic cold edge of a long knife pressed against his throat.

"Cry out Human," a voice hissed at his, the voice coming slightly above his head. A shorter G'neld most likely, "And you will die."

* * *

McCoy was roughly pushed from the back as he was led off the streets and into a back alley. It was surprising to him that despite there being so many people in the streets that had seen the abduction, not a single person had come to his rescue. Sure, perhaps he was an alien. But surely common sense dictated you go help when something like this happened.

_It just makes sense, _he thought to himself. But even as he did, he could just hear Spock saying that he needed to stop attributing human values to alien races, because of it being illogical.

"So," he said, trying to make friendly conversation, "I suppose you are the welcoming committee."

"Shut up, Human!" the G'neld snapped, and he was roughly shoved again on the left shoulder, pushing him deeper into the dark alley.

He glanced around seeing if there was anything to help him. Perhaps small trash cans. Packing crates. Being pieces of garbage. Heck, he'd take dirt if it gave him a chance to slip through the clutches of the man behind him. But no, there was nothing here to help him.

"I have to say I agree with your people's standards of cleanliness," he said, not even seeing stairwells through which he could jump up and perhaps give him the slip, "Even you alleys aren't too shabby."

"What did I tell you?" the G'neld barked, pushing the blade tip against the small of his back. Bones was being corralled towards the back of the alley, which was walled off. The only way out was back the way he'd come. D-t Spock! Where was the Vulcan when he was needed?

"To shut up," Bones answered, but playing a hunch said, "But I wouldn't suggest that."

"Why not?' the G'neld demanded.

"Humans can't breathe with their mouths closed," he said, now being turned and pressed against the wall, his back smarting as it hit the stone face with a degree of force he didn't much care for.

The G'neld wasn't the largest being he'd seen. But, he had a long scar down his face, which curved around his eye. One ear had been lopped off it seemed, and the middle of his fingers on his right hand had been cut off down to the fourth of five knuckles. He assumed it was part of the gangs ritual that man belong to, to cut the finger off. Either way, he was still in deep crap.

"Humans have nostrils," the G'neld said, glaring his fierce gaze at him.

"What are nostrils?" McCoy squinted his eyes, trying to look confused.

"Those holes in your face with the growth," he said, tapping it hard with his free finger, his other blade moving up to the Doctor's throat.

"Oh," McCoy chuckled, trying not to show fear. That would undermine everything. "Those aren't for breathing."

The G'neld frowned. "What are they for then?" he asked suspiciously.

"Reproductive organ," McCoy said, although even as he said it he wondered if that was really the _best_ thing he could come up with.

The G'neld blinked. That was obviously the last thing he expected. But, while McCoy wasn't a student of the body, or, to be more specific, body language, he could tell the disgust on the G'neld's face.

"And you leave it..._exposed_?" he asked incredulously, "For everyone to see?"

"The females of our species judge men by these sexual attributes," he improved with a smile, "Some have really massive noses. Some have long ones. Really good for penetrating..."

"My orders were to bring you back dead or alive," the alien snarled, "I'd have let you live, but this total immoral display must be put a stop to. Say goodbye, Healer."

McCoy closed shut his eyes, hoping not to see the blade as it slid through his neck and cut his Cortaid artery. Oh well...he guessed there would be no way out of this. But, just then, there was a howl from the man before him and he opened one eye wearily. The man's stomach had vanished in a circular hole, the superheated edges still red hot and smoking. He collapsed backwards onto the ground, and McCoy blinked in surprise as the G'neld died in such a horrible fashion.

"The Grand Vizier is getting jumpy if he is hiring members of the Bokara'Mettarch to hunt one of you," a G'neld roughly thirty feet from him said, holstering a rather large looking disruptor.

No matter what race it was, one could always tell military. His pants were blue, but his tunic was red on one side and green on the other. He wore a cap like an ancient Earth Police officers cap, and on his chest were strips of metal which were probably medals. And on his shoulders were three circles, one ring surrounded the next.

"Are you alright, Doctor McCoy?" he asked.

"My hearts racing a hundred kilometers an hour," he said, taking deep breaths to steady his nerves, "But, I'm alright. You are?"

"Third Major Gelba'Dosh of Supreme War Admiral Kilo'vash staff," he said, "At your service."

"How did you know to find me?" McCoy asked, looking down and was startled to see the body slowly turning into dust before his eyes.

"Your Vulcan friend sent me to find you," the Third Major replied, "Told me where you had been seperated. He's asked me to escort you to the Lower Imperial Archives. So, if you'd follow me, Doctor."

"I might not know what the rank of Third Major or even Supreme War Admiral Kilo'vah is," he said with a bewildered glance, "But I'll follow your advice."

He stepped around the body and hurried to reach the Third Major who turned and began to walk by his side out, his hand resting on his disruptor's handle.


	4. The Lower Imperial Archives

**Chapter 4: The Lower Imperial Archives**

"I was afraid you'd not make it, Doctor," Spock said, greeting him as McCoy entered the main foyer of the Lower Imperial Archives. It was a puzzlement to McCoy that they would name the Archives as the _Lower_ Archives, since they were clearly higher in the city elevation-wise than that of the _Upper_ Archives, which was down near the outskirts of Bedjabor, the name of the capitol city, which rested by the currently winter dry bed of the River Imperia.

Third Major Gelba'Dosh had halted at the front of the Archives, informing McCoy that only diplomats, governmental officials and scientists were allowed into the Lower Imperial Archives. When questioned, the man had shrugged and replied with a wishy-washy reason. In other words, he didn't know _why_ he wasn't allowed there. He just knew he _wasn't_. And when questioned on why aliens were allowed into the Archives, he had looked bewildered and confused.

But, McCoy was once again astounded by the sheer magnificence of the archives. The main foyer, which connected to the rotunda, was laid out in a stone that while not glass, still reflected perfectly a person all around, making him see three of him. Well, four if he counted the reflection on the floor aside the woven rug.

He didn't see the security cameras that were watching him as he stepped up to Spock. But, he wouldn't have been overly surprised. This was still an Empire. And would be even after it entered the Federation. Oh yes, they'd be forced to change to meet the demands of the Federation. But, in the end, entering the Federation was not a complete purging of lifestyles and governments. Even United Earth still had Nation States, even if they weren't any longer divided by racial and political boundaries.

"Oh," McCoy said, glancing at the reflections of Spock, "I wouldn't miss this. Although I was surprised you left me like that in the streets."

"And for that I do apologize, McCoy," Spock said, holding his hand out, "My haste to get here failed to take into account your leg measurements and natural speed."

"And what is that supposed to me?" McCoy shot back, wondering if he had just been insulted. But, Spock was already turned around and heading towards the Rotunda.

McCoy cursed as he followed him out, and into an even more amazing room. The Rotunda was filled with statues evenly placed that were spread around in a circle. The carving in the marble eyes made the statues eyes seem to follow people as they walked in. Each was a life-sized statue of an Emperor, and higher up, in small nooks cut from the walls, were other statues. Each was a famous general or diplomat. The walls were paneled with paintings that moved, reenacting some scene of history or mythology. They were not so flexible or all encompassing as ancient television sets showed them, but there was more of a woodcarving element to the scenes.

One in particular caught his eye, and as he focused, he thought the image suddenly became clearer in his focus, drawn in by the image of ancient ships, dragging a massive beast like a whale with manlike arms as it tore at an island. He wondered if it was some part of their mythos. Nothing did he know of the story of the Gamalen, a great beast that lived on both land and sea, that had taken up residence on the ancient Island Kingdom of Gorgos. The kindly beast had been hauled back out by one of the legendary heroes, Kain'men the Shipwight. Thus was the wrath of the God of Illness thwarted, who used the island as a personal sanctuary and appeared not as a god, but as a dog-like creature that had five legs instead of four.

"Welcome," a voice said, and a very skinny and particularly tall G'neld said, bowing as he stepped up from behind his desk, "Welcome to the Lower Imperial Archives. I am Nel'vork, proprietor and custodian of the Archives. Here we have the most complete texts of mythology and some of the rarest historical documents of the G'neld Empire and indeed the entire history of Sextus Dominar. How may I be of service?"

"I am looking for a device that has been references as the Time Portal," Spock informed him, annoyance settling in as McCoy wandered around, taking in each visual depiction with delight, even if he knew nothing about the context.

"Hmmmm," the G'neld tapped his lips with his three fingers on his left hand, "I am not familiar with that particular artifact. Follow me and we shall look on the terminal to see if anything matches the description of whatever it is. You do have a description, I trust?"

"Indeed," Spock said, grabbing McCoy by the shoulder and guiding him along with him to the G'neld's desk as Nel'vork settled into the chair behind and began typing on a keyboard.

_Fascinating_, Spock thought to himself, _For all their technology, they still rely upon keyboard and not speech to use their computers._

* * *

Piles, no, one could call the mountains of manuals surrounded him as Montgomery Scott looked up from the computer console to see Kirk walking into the office. For the past two days he literally hadn't taken a break, not even to sleep. Probably should, but he was too excited helping the G'neld out to have realized the passage of time. These people had a ton to look forward too.

"Why hello, Captain lad," he said, waving to him as the Captain tried getting past the piles of technical manuals and sketches and Governmental workers all over the place.

"Scotty," Kirk said, nearly tripping over a foot of a G'neld who kneeled down and place his leg in his path just as Kirk was walking, "Have you seen Spock or McCoy?"

"No, sir," he shook his head, the designs and schematics of new weather predication modules on the small screen tempting him to look away, "Frankly haven't seen anyone since I've been down here. Unless of course you count the G'neld."

"I know," Kirk said, rubbing his forehead, a G'neld elbowing him as he moved past, "I thought Spock was supposed to be with the one minister...what's his name...Jelefar or some other nonsense like," he paused to take a deep breath to calm himself after another G'neld, walking close by, basically shoved him aside without so much as an apology, "...I was hoping I could find Spock. But Jelefart says he hasn't seen him today."

"Sorry, Jim," Scotty shook his head, suddenly a wave of tiredness hitting him, "Wow. How long have I been here?"

"Seventy-five hours," the G'neld sitting at the console he had been leaning over said, his chin resting boringly in his up held hand, "I'm not sure how that translates to your time measurements."

Scotty blinked as suddenly his eyes began feeling very tired. He shook his head to shake it off, but it didn't work. In fact, it had the opposite effect. Suddenly looking away and resting his eyes was allowing the lack of sleep to really begin to tell on him.

"Permission to return to the ship and get some rest, sir," Scott asked, his whole body suddenly feeling very tired.

Kirk nodded his head. "Yes, yes of course," he said, grunting as a G'neld tossed a manual to another G'neld who asked for it, "Maybe I can find out what happened to Spock and McCoy."

Scott nodded in sympathy. It was going to be hard to find anything around here. But then again, he hadn't left the office since he had gotten here. But, they already had a land reclamation well underway. When he got back, he anticipated there would be almost nothing left to do.

"Alright," he said, "Nighty night sir." He pulled out his communicator and flipping open the lid with a swish of his hand brought it close to his face.

"Scott to _Enterprise_," he spoke into the communicator.

"_Enterprise here_," Uhuru soft voice replied.

"Beam me up," he ordered, "I'm coming aboard."

"_Right away, Mr. Scott_."

* * *

"Ah, yes," Nel'vork lead them down the long staircase into the bottom level of the Archives, "Of course I would not remember it. I rarely go down to Level E. Most of my time is spent on Level A, or you might call it the Ground Level. That and Levels 1 and 2. That's where we keep most of the records we have here. Over seven million different texts and resources crammed up there. It is a trial at times to keep up with so many, but we are always getting new works to put in here."

"Why not get more staff?" Spock asked, "If it is clear you are getting over burdened by the amount of the task at hand."

"Oh, no no no," Nel'vork said, his eyes wide in terror, "The Proprietor of these Archives has a sacred responsibility. We are to safe guard the most cherished and beloved of written work for hundreds of years. We simply cannot add more people. There are too many people who do not cherish such relics. Like for example those of that most fanatical religious Order of Zel^doom. They would stop at nothing to burn every religious text in here, indeed, every work in here that does not conform to their doctrines and beliefs. Not to mention those people who simply cannot understand the significance of these great work."

Nel'vork stepped off the last step of the winding staircase and onto the floor of a level lit by low lights. Enough to see comfortably, but not enough to be without hazard to those not watching their step. He continued his verbal tirade and Spock could sense the discomfort of his human companion. McCoy had once told him that nothing good every happens in basements or in attics. For that is where murders happen. Spock, of course, had stated that it was illogical to assume such.

_But Doctor McCoy will do and think as he pleases,_ he thought to himself.

They continued further down the passageway and they passed several doors. Each door had a plaque with the G'neld language written on each. Presumable these words named what the rooms housed and stored from prying eyes. But, they continued onwards until they reached the end of the hallway, which branched off in two directions. Nel'vork didn't hesitate as he turned right and headed down a few more meters before arriving at a door with three plaques. It would have been unusual to Spock had he not spotted two other doors down this hallway with them as well.

Nel'vork pulled out a set of keys, massive to the Human and Vulcan perspective. In fact, each key was roughly the size of a Vulcan hand. Each key had two round loops on the bottom and stretched out in long metal rods.

"Compensating for something?" McCoy snorted crudely.

"What was that?" Nel'vork asked, turning with a questioning glance back to McCoy, clueless to what he was saying.

McCoy waved his hand dismissively. He wasn't going to expound upon his off-colored joke. Nel'vork shrugged and turned back to the door, fitting a key in and turning. The door lock clicked and with a tug on the handle halfway down the door frame, the Archivist opened the door.

"Summon me if you need anything through this intercom," Nel'vork led them inside the room, "And please do be careful. These are relics in here, and are priceless."

Spock stepped inside and looked at the massive mirror that was behind a few boxes. It was the size of a G'neld male when it would stand up. That's what he was after.

"Thank you for your assistance," he said.

"Anything for the Vulcan Master and his friend," Nel'vork bowed low.

McCoy chuckled, "He ain't no...oh well." He finished lamely as the G'neld was already standing and leaving. "Well, Mr. Spock," he muttered, stepping up to him, "I suppose you have a brilliant idea."

"Of course, Doctor," Spock acknowledged, already working his way around the table which had various technological artifacts on there, "It would be prudent to remove the boxes that are blocking the Portal."

"And then what?" McCoy asked, by no means as quickly following him, "Are we simply to step in?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Doctor McCoy," Spock retorted, "First we need to ascertain whether the device even works or not."

"And then what?" McCoy asked, stopping to glance at a very simple hand held device. It had red and yellow buttons on either side of a small screen. He wondered what the purpose of it was. But, he shook his head and focused instead on catching up to Spock, who was already lifting one of the boxes with extreme ease.

"Then we shall need to make a shorter and less important steps backwards in time," Spock said, moving the box with undue haste to the side and dropping it heavily on the ground. He didn't even take note of what sounded like the shattering of glass.

"And what would be less important than seeing a woman in your case?" McCoy said, reaching down to grab a box.

"You shall make the selection," the Vulcan replied, lifting another box.

McCoy strained to lift up his box. It was quiet heavy, and only with difficulty did he lift it. He made two steps and dropped it, not having fully been able to stand with the box. He turned around, saw seven other boxes and let a sigh out.

"I guess what I decide is less important," he grumbled.

* * *

Kirk closed the communicator and shaded his eyes to the binary sun's rays as they touched the surface of Sextus Dominar. He had tried communicating with Spock and McCoy but neither of them were answering their communicators. Frowning he turned to look back at the Palace. No one had seen either of them since they first landed, and what they one person who had seen them said they had ventured out into the city.

McCoy wasn't accustomed to disobeying orders. Nor was Spock for that matter of fact. As a warm wind blew through the city from the east, down from the Shila'berg Mountains nearly thirty kilometers away, he began to wonder if indeed they had decided to go ahead without his permission. Spock had done so once before blatantly disobeyed his orders. But that was back with Captain Pike, his first commanding officer if he was correct.

So, logically there would have to be an intense feeling of loyalty towards whatever was going on. He trusted Spock's logic, but knew his human-half (despite all Spock's protestations) really did have a pull on him and influenced many of his decisions. Especially when it came to half-truths or lying under orders.

"D-n you, Vulcan," Kirk growled to himself. The Minister Bok'rat was waiting for him at the entrance to the Palace, and he rubbed his forehead. He really didn't want to talk to him again. But, he would have to excuse himself.

So, he rounded his shoulders and walked up to the G'neld and looked up at him. He wondered how this man would take his request. The man was a politician, and they had a way of not liking anything not exactly as they had planned. But, as his great-grandfather would have said, 'You can go suck an egg'.

"Forgive me, Minister," he said, hoping not to offend, "It seems two of my senior staff has disappeared on me. I need to return to the _Enterprise_ and find out what happened to them."

Bok'rat stared at him, the look on the border of glaring. A few uncomfortable seconds passed as they glared at each other under the gateway of the Palace. It really wasn't exactly the best rapport he had ever had with anyone, but Kirk wasn't one to care too overly much about such things.

"Fine," the Minister huffed, "I don't really care."

Kirk inwardly breathed a sigh of relief, but didn't let it show. He had a job to do, and he needed to maintain his diplomatic air to do so. But, first thing he'd need to do once back on the Enterprise and go to Spock's quarters and see if he left anything that was a clue to his great emergency.

* * *

The Doctor dusted himself off as he and the Vulcan came through the time portal and into the room of the Lower Imperial Archive. The smell of gunpowder was still heavy in his nostrils, and as he looked at his clothes, saw that they were singed a bit. As he looked at the blacked face that was Spock, he couldn't help but laugh at the absurd notion of the impeccably groomed Vulcan being anything less than perfect.

"I see nothing funny about that, Doctor," he muttered annoyingly, wiping the grim off his face, "You deliberately put us in middle of a war zone. I was nearly shot in the face by an antiquated black powder driven projectile based weapon. Twelve to be precise."

"Did you catch who fired the first shot?" McCoy asked, deciding that he wouldn't pursue the issue.

"I did not see any shots fired from the British Infantrymen at the scene," Spock replied, "But I still would prefer you to refrain from putting us in a warzone next time."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Alright, Mister Spock!" he snapped, "I am sorry that I nearly got us killed. If it's any consolation though, I nearly got shot by those Minutemen on the other side."

"Did you see who fired the first shot?" Spock asked.

"No one on the Colonists side," McCoy said.

Spock frowned, his slanted tilted eyebrows tilting even further. McCoy had long ago lost the fascination of that particular motion of the Vulcan. No, he had gotten quiet past the need to feel inspired by such a show.

"Curious," he muttered, "No British troops fired the shot. But neither did the rebels. Do you see what I see?"

"No," he shook his head, "I don't know what you are talking about. Or are you saying that no one fired the shot?"

"Someone did, Doctor," Spock said, folding his arms, "But no one we could see. Thus implying that someone other than the troops on hand fired the shot."

Understanding dawned on the Doctor and his eyebrow raised. "An innocent civilian started the American Revolutionary War?" he asked, "Wow, that is interesting."

"We must go now," Spock said, turning towards the Portal.

"Now wait a second," McCoy called out, trying to grab him to restrain his stepping back into the Portal, "We need to check the timeline! Make sure it hasn't been altered in any way by our being there."

But Spock did not wait. He stepped through, speaking the location and time he wished to go as he stepped through. McCoy watched angrily as the Vulcan stepped through and his hand clutched at thin air, missing him by a second. As Spock stepped through, the entire black surface turned into a wavy vortex or red and brown and orange swirls of light. These swirls headed away from the edges and off into some unknown and unseen distance.

"D-n you, Mister Spock!" he snapped, leaning over and jumping through after his tall companion.

As he jumped through, he heard words whispered in his mind. From a hundred directions, he heard snatches of a hundred speeches, the sounds of war and other tumults all lapping together. He didn't seem to move, so much as everything passed around him at various speeds. So many sounds and voices coming together. Ghostly images appeared him as he was hurtled towards his destination.

Seconds only passed. But his mind was filled with the images and sounds of times to be, times that were and times that would be. It made so much sense to him. But, at the same time, he was left in a state of confusion. Disorienting to say the least.

But, just as soon as it begun, it stopped. The dark vortex, all the voices. They all vanished. Replaced by a howling wind, that with his first senses recovering threw him against a rocky wall face. Snow blew in his face, the cold biting every inch of him, seeping quickly through his clothes. His eyes and ears stung as snowflakes were thrown hard at his face and he held up his hand to ward off the wintery assault.

A hard hand gripped his bicep hard and pulled him along, seeming to him to peel him from the rock face. He followed blindly as the hand dragged him along. Where he was going he didn't know, all he knew was it was further into the Arctic wasteland of Sarpeidons' Ice Age.


End file.
